Jesteress
by Joker'sOnlyFear
Summary: Story of how Crane and Joker meet Harley Quinn for the first time - in a strip club! 4th in the Harlequin series, following "The Holiday Spirit", "Peanut Butter Surprise", and "Perfect Timing?". Rated M b/c it's a bit more graphic. Crane/Joker slash.


_Author's Notes: I recently read the graphic novel_ Batman: Harley Quinn_, which I think opened me up more to Harley's personality and how she talks and such. As a result, I think this is the most in-character story I've created that she's been in. You'll find that I based a few of her "lines" off those in the comic, such as "_Sneak, sneak, sneak. . ._" and "_The name's Quinn, _Harley_ Quinn!_"_ _This could also possibly be considered the "first" installment in the _Harlequin_ series (as I have decided to call it), even though it's really the fourth one that I've written._

_In my little world, Jonathan's "Scarecrow self" is like an entirely separate personality from Crane's. After being kicked out of Arkham for his activities at the end of _Batman Begins_, he bribed all the right people and was able to reassume his position as the asylum's director again. My Dr. Crane and Joker are, as always, based off the Nolanverse portrayals featured in _Batman Begins _and _The Dark Knight_. _

"Capisco_" means "_understand_" in Italian. "_Arlecchino_" means "_harlequin_" - in Italian as well. (I'm actually not sure of those, so if anyone knows if I'm wrong on the translation/spelling, please let me know. Thanks!) _

_In this story, the conference room "activities" have not begun yet - you'll read why later._Around the corner of the building, just out of sight of the front entrance to the pretentious nightclub owned by crime lord Pietro Medicci, shadows lurked.

* * *

A certain psychotic clown pressed a spectacle-less Jonathan Crane back up against the outer wall of the edifice. The two were locked in a frenzied passion of feverish kisses and thrusting hips. (Even though they could see each other whenever they wanted, because of Crane's job at Arkham Asylum and the Joker's frequent acts of inciting chaos in Gotham City, [forced] negotiations with mob bosses were the only really convenient times that they could be together. As a result, each time they were in each other's company, they tended to get a little "carried away.")

The cool, rough brick siding brought the Jonathan Crane part of the doctor more or less to his senses; his Scarecrow self pleaded in the back of Crane's mind for more. (_Another minute. . .Just let _me_ take control. . .I won't let him strip you until we're all back in your apartment, I _promise_. . ._)

Reluctantly, Jonathan tried to turn his head away, gasping for air; Joker moved and caught his lips once again. With great difficulty, Jonathan began to protest between kisses, his meager resistance weakening with each word.

"Joker, _really_. . .We have a job to do. . .If someone found out. . .Not here. . .Please, sweetheart, not here. . ." His voice broke as tears of desperation, longing and panic welled in his azure eyes.

"_Ssh_. . ." Joker murmured soothingly - but then he performed the exact opposite of what a soothing action would be, and grabbed Jonathan between the legs with a gloved hand.

"_Ohhh_. . ." Jonathan moaned, eyes rolling up into his skull with pleasure as his head sank back against the wall. He thrust his crotch deeper into the Joker's palm, wanting his lover to feel how hard he had become; yet still he breathed a faint objection. "Not here. . ."

"Those _voluptuous_ lips say _no_ but your _gorgeous_ baby blues say _yes_," Joker taunted lovingly. "You dirty little bitch you," he added fondly, rubbing the tips of their noses together and smiling wickedly as he tightened his grip with the gentlest of movements; Jonathan let out a strangled squeal as he nearly wet himself. Chuckling softly, Joker smirked and took Crane's mouth as his own to quiet him.

It had become somewhat of a twisted game between them; on those few occasions when they could be together but didn't have the time to _really_ have sex, Joker would pull the doctor into the shadows and see how much he could arouse Jonathan in the time allotted before pulling away just when Crane's body became ready for lovemaking - just as he did now.

Jonathan's eyes widened in shock, hurt at the sudden rejection. "What are you _doing?!_" he gasped, frantically taking Joker's hand and grinding his erection into his palm once again, his sigh of pleasure shuddering from the erotic contact.

Joker felt his own body react to his lover's advances but tried his best to ignore the tightening in the crotch of his trousers. "I thought we had _work_ to do, in _there_." Joker jerked his head in the direction of the club's main entrance. Then his eyes lit up, suddenly understanding; his hand tightened again as he teased, "Don't you _want_ me to stop?"

"NO!" Jonathan practically screamed.

Joker pulled Crane deeper into the shadows and kissed him again to calm him; that had been _much_ too loud - they had _reasons_ for not wanting to call attention to themselves. . .

A moment later, Joker pulled away again, bowing his head slightly so that Jonathan's oceanic eyes met his brown ones. "Later," he promised.

Jonathan sighed and nodded, straightening up as the Joker brushed a bit of dirt from the wall off the back of the doctor's black suit jacket.

- - -

Once again the composed and knowledgeable Dr. Jonathan Crane, psychopharmacologist, the physician strode smoothly into the light emanating from two lamps that curved downward like twin drooping flowers on their stems from the brick wall, one at each top corner of the heavy unmarked door that was the entrance to the gentlemen's club. Crane donned his spectacles, head twitching slightly in surprise as his suddenly magnified vision revealed an unfamiliar guard hulking before the door.

The thug was _huge_; Crane wouldn't put it past him to be well over seven feet tall. A colored man with a bald head, his skin was as dark as his mistrusting eyes. He was dressed in deep blue jeans, tan work boots and a black tank top that revealed the thick, ropelike muscles bulging as they snaked their way up and around the powerful arms crossed over the man's broad chest. There wasn't a layer of adipose tissue to be seen on his brawny figure.

Crane stopped a few feet from the guard, clasping his pale, spidery hands behind his back; the contrast between the thug's protruding sinew and his own skeletal frame was almost comical.

"This is most irregular - it was not in my immediate expectations for Mr. Medicci to have acquired a new doorman without prior notice." Jonathan's penetrating irises flashed darkly at the disrupted routine agreement. Medicci had had the same man guarding the place for as long as the doctor had been making deals with him; Crane had grown used to how the lanky thug merely had to glance briefly in his direction before waving him through with a quiet "_buongiorno_" - now he would probably have to be wanded down for hidden weapons and asked if he was "on the list."

"The boss'n warned me about you," the man said slowly, almost dumbly as his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You'n them _creepy_ blue eyes."

Jonathan gave an impatient blink and tried again. "Where's Bruno?"

"He got promoted. He guards the boss now." Jealousy was hinted in his dark tone.

Crane nodded. It made sense: the only people Medicci trusted for personal protection were Italians like himself. "Be sure to congratulate him for me, will you?" He moved to enter the building.

The thug shifted to bar his way. "The boss says I'm not s'posed t' let you in 'ere." The way the guard spoke suddenly reminded Jonathan of the character Lennie from the John Steinbeck novel _Of Mice and Men_: big and slow. "He says you're not t' come in 'ere till next week."

"Does he now?" Crane nodded smoothly, pensively, a slight smirk turning the passive expression on his face to one of glittering malice. "I suppose I might have expected a _situation_ to arise - luckily, I _came prepared_."

"_Evening_," came a sinister, whiney voice.

The thug jerked his head to the left in alarm; he had been so focused on Crane that he had not heard this new and formidable creature come up beside him. He had just enough time to register a pair of blackened eyes above horribly scarred lips before a switchblade was jammed through his left eye and into his brain, snuffing out his life like a candle flame. His body folded in on itself as it crumpled to the ground.

The Joker extracted his weapon, smirking happily at another kill as he wiped the blade clean on his victim's shirt, flicked it closed, and replaced it in his trouser pocket. Stepping over the body, he followed Jonathan into the club.

- - -

Harleen Quinzel, better known as Harley Quinn, peeked around the corner from the narrow hallway where the stripper girls' dressing room (talk about oxymorons) was located, down to the main setting of the nightclub.

At five-foot-three, she was deemed "short" by average standards; the Lilliputians from the Jonathan Swift novel _Gulliver's Travels_ would consider her a giant. With pale blue eyes and long blonde hair, she was certainly a beauty; her skimpy outfit showed off her petite frame and snowy skin - and _a lot_ of skin at that.

Each of the girls, many of who doubled as waitresses and barmaids, were required to dress up in their own unique costume - an angel perhaps, or maybe even a she-devil - that generally tended to reflect each damsel's unparalleled personality. This was especially true for Harley: her slim bikini (if one could even call it that) was halved in black and red (her two favorite colors), and patterned over with diamond (she _loved_ diamonds!) patches. She also wore sandals with six-inch stiletto heels (to make up for her aforementioned slight stature): one red, one black.

Harley watched the two gentlemen enter the nightclub, her fragile young heart skipping a beat. Though she found both to be _very_ attractive - the first's blue eyes could be seen from where she was, they were _that_ vivid - it was the one in the somewhat outlandish purple suit that caught her attention: the leering smile-scars spoke of danger, the ghoulish makeup hinting at a hidden mystique; _this_ jester knew a bad boy with _class_ when she saw one.

Harley couldn't help but notice how the two were almost constantly brushing shoulders, one never far from physical contact with the other - although the club members granted them plenty of space, leaving no real need for the pair's interpretably intimate touches. For an instant, Harley felt a flicker of jealousy - but she brushed it off. After all, it wasn't like the two men were _together_ or anything.

In any case, Harley hoped the boss would allow her to wait on their table just the same.

Giggling quietly to herself, Harley ducked back into the hallway, piling her pale locks atop one another while pulling a jester's harlequin hood down over her head and neck, the red-and-black garment masking the upper half of her face.

Harley giggled again. "Sneak, sneak, sneak. . ."

- - -

Just inside the entrance to the club, Jonathan scanned the room, searching for a familiar face. The establishment was certainly not lacking in what some would call "entertainment": a dozen or so female strippers danced seductively around poles to the beat of heavy rap music as strobe lights flashed overhead, alternately providing the room with light before plunging it into darkness and then brightening it again. Just as Crane thought he was about to have a seizure from the on-again, off-again illuminations, he found what he sought.

Recognizing Bruno as he stood with another thug to either side of an occupied semi-circular booth in the back right-hand corner of the strip club, Jonathan strode quickly toward him, the Joker easily keeping up with his partner.

"Good evening," Crane said as he reached them - of course addressing the crime lord himself first out of politeness and respect.

The olive-skinned, heavyset, white-suited Italian nodded back in reply - then he abruptly froze, his face paling measurably as he gawked openly at the menacing figure who stood just behind Crane's right shoulder.

Sensing where Pietro Medicci's gaze led, Crane smirked lightly. "I told you I had _friends_, did I not?"

Still goggling in shock, Medicci mouthed "_the Joker_" in stunned amazement. Then, giving himself a little shake, he slid over to his right wordlessly, making room for the Joker to slip into the middle of the booth, Crane perching almost delicately on the end. (Jonathan was almost forced to keep a fair distance from the Joker - any closer, and they would have been all over each other in seconds. It had taken an enormous amount of willpower just to walk through the barroom together as they had - Jonathan was still tingling from the Joker's touch.) The two guards eyed the Clown Prince of Crime suspiciously; he flashed them his patented scarred leer.

Crane wasted no time in getting straight to the point. "It was promised at out last meeting that the replicants of the sample I gave you would be delivered last week. I never received them. Why?"

Having begun to sweat slightly, Medicci tugged at the collar of his crisp silk shirt while giggling nervously, almost hysterically, as he attempted to change the subject. "How about a drink?" He snapped his fingers brusquely. "_Arlecchino!_" Then, to Crane: "She's my personal favorite - best girl in the house." His English was impeccable - though his accent still rolled through slightly on his _r_'s.

There was a flash of long shapely legs - Harley Quinn flipped acrobatically up onto the table's surface - causing the napkin dispenser and salt-and-pepper shakers to clink loudly - landing on her toes so that her heels wouldn't break off. Giggling perkily, she jumped backwards, off the table, to land on the floor on the balls of her feet and rested her heels on the ground; it took a moment for the bells on her jester's cap to cease their light tinkling. "What can I getcha, Mr. M?"

"Gentlemen, meet my little jester," Medicci said almost proudly as he smiled up at her.

"The name's Quinn, _Harley_ Quinn!" she said proudly, performing a slight pirouette-like twirl on her toes as her face contorted into a grin so wide it was almost psychotic. She loved showing off her curvaceous, sleek and youthful body, adoring the endless attention she lovingly received from the men who came here to seek pleasure - but she was offended greatly by the reactions presented to her by the newcomers. Crane nodded quickly to her before hastily averting his gaze, a light magenta coloring his high cheekbones - he almost seemed _embarrassed_ for her - while the Joker merely stared through her with dead eyes, as if she wasn't there at all.

"Three glasses of our finest Bordeaux, please." Medicci winked at her.

"Comin' right up!" Harley flipped away.

"Well, she was certainly. . ._energetic_," Crane said finally; then he seemed to recover himself. "Where are my shipments?"

"Butch was supposed to tell you to come back for 'em next week."

Crane assumed that this "Butch" was the guard that his partner had so neatly murdered. "The door man has been. . .disposed of ."

"Oh." Medicci said this in an offhand sort of way, as if the thug's death didn't bother him in the slightest. "Well, in that case, just come back here next week and they'll be ready for you, like I said."

Crane sighed impatiently and removed his glasses, the blinding force of his icy blue gaze boring into the pretentious Italian. "I am more than. . ._aware_ that you do not necessarily find my presence here to be _intimidating_, Mr. Medicci -"

"Took you long enough to figure that out," Medicci interrupted rudely. "Huh, I guess you're not as smart as you look, pretty boy."

Nostrils flaring, the doctor pressed his lips together until they turned white, his azure eyes bulging as his gaunt cheeks flooded with scarlet heat; Crane was _furious_. Beneath the table, his fingers itched over the trigger at his wrist that, with a thrust of his arm, would release a dosage of his most potent fear toxin into the air. _How _dare_ he insult my superior intelligence. . .that pompous ass _deserves _to be gassed. . ._

Watching the positively _livid_ expression blossoming on his lover's face, Joker tried not to giggle as he thought excitedly: _Come on out, Scarecrow - come out and _play_. . .C'mon, I _want_ you to do it! I want you to do it! Scare him! MAKE HIM _SQUEAL!

Just then, Harley sailed over with their drinks. "Anything else I can getcha?" she asked, cocking her hips to the side sensually. She seemed oblivious to the color fading from Crane's cheeks as he relaxed. Medicci seemed extremely appreciative of the interruption - the Joker, however, put on the slightly pouting air of a young, extremely pampered child whose new balloon had just been popped.

"That will be all, Harley, thank you," said Medicci gratefully, and Quinn swept away again.

Joker began to grow impatient with Medicci for not giving Jonathan what he wanted - and besides, he was getting _really _tired of sitting almost immobile in the booth. He needed to _move_.

And that's exactly what he did.

In a single, fluid motion, the clown whipped two knives smoothly from his coat pockets and threw them almost gracefully into the chests of Bruno and the other goon. He took the switchblade from his trouser pocket and grabbed the back of Medicci's neck to hold him still while he brought the knife up and into the Italian's mouth, pressing the serrated edge against the soft, wet inside of his cheek.

"You know you _really_ should have your people watch you a bit better," the Joker said pleasantly. "Assuming of course that they are still _your _people, and not. . .someone else's." His brown eyes glinted maliciously.

Medicci made a strangled noise in the back of his throat as it dawned on him: _they _all - _with perhaps the exception of Jonathan Crane - had been working for the clown. . ._

The Joker giggled. "You wanna know _how_ I got these scars?"

Crane leaned forward, smirking - he knew the signs well. "As I'm sure you may have heard, the speculation on these variations of his past often results in the _murder_ of those to whom he tells his stories - _so_, I shall kindly give you two options. Either bring me my shipments by tomorrow evening, or I will let the Joker continue his tale and ultimately _kill_ you. _Capisco?_"

Medicci blinked twice slowly.

"Was that a yes?" Joker giggled excitedly again.

Medicci blinked once more.

Crane grinned hauntingly. "_Excellent_. Release him, please." This was said to the Joker, who obliged - if reluctantly.

The two infamous criminals stood, Crane straightening his suit jacket and donning his glasses once again as he said smoothly, "It has been a _pleasure_ doing business with you, as always." With that, he and the Joker left the establishment.

- - -

Harley had seen the whole thing - she had been bussing tables nearby just so she could overhear their conversation and repeat it later to her fellow "entertainers" as gossip - and the idea had popped into her dream-filled head that maybe _she _too could lead a life of crime. It would give her even more freedom to be the bit of a show-off that she was - _and_ it would allow her to associate with the two possibly most _attractive_ men in the universe.

Giggling in delight, Harley threw on a scruffy, black leather jacket - it had once belonged to the recently-murdered Butch, and so it came down to about her knees - and swept over to the cash register, promptly stuffing handfuls of raw green cash into the brassiere and waistband of her bikini - "Sneak, sneak, sneak" - and into the many pockets of her new (well, new to _her_) jacket. (_Thank-you, Butch!_)

"_Hey_ -" Medicci began - but Harley flew out the door before he could stop her.

Our daring jester found the Joker pressing Crane up against the wall outside - _Hmm_ - the two seemed to be whispering in a feverishly heated discussion.

"Hey, Mistah J!"

The pair whipped their heads toward her voice, and the Joker stepped away from Jonathan quickly.

Crane adjusted his glasses. "What do you want?" Annoyance darkened his tone, causing Harley to balk.

"Well, I just thought that maybe. . .You see, I saw what happened, and I got bit by the ol' inspiration bug, and. . ."

"And you want to join us," Crane supplied flatly - although there _was_ a hint of derisive laughter in his words.

Harley brightened. "Yeah! I mean, _think_ about it - who's gonna cook for ya when that Batty guy's flappin' around, and it's too dangerous for even you two to go'n grab a bite to eat? Who's gonna help ya _scare_ people'n spread _chaos?_ I mean, ya do it all fine'n dandy on ya own - but throw a _woman_ inta da works, an' _everythin' _goes _kablooee!_" Harley threw her arms into the air, giggling excitedly.

Joker and Crane exchanged a glance - _What harm could she bring? She's only a _girl_ -_ and Jonathan said with a grudging sigh, "I suppose you may come along."

"YIPPEE!" Harley did a cartwheel. "So, where's ya hideout?"

Crane's thin eyebrows rose; part in skepticism, part in confusion. "Hideout?"

"Yeah! Where ya do all ya evil schemin'n stuff."

The pair looked at each other again in bewilderment - the idea for such a place had not occurred to them - and the Joker admitted, "Well, we really don't _have _one. Never saw a need for it, y'see."

"Then _I_ can find the perfect place! Deck it all out, make it nice'n cozy -"

"Hold on," Crane interrupted. "If we allow you to choose the location, it is necessary for you to keep in mind that the area _must_ blend in with the rest of the city, for security purposes."

Harley grinned broadly, and winked at the doctor. "I gotcha! Wait - how's I gonna know when to come to the meetin's'n such?"

"Oh - you'll know." Crane smiled shrewdly as the Joker pulled a small object wordlessly from his coat pocket and let it flutter facedown to the ground at the girl's delicately small feet.

Harley bent to snatch it up in her hand, flipping the playing card over as she straightened up: a joker.

"Hey, nice calling cahd - huh?"

Crane and the Joker had vanished.

Shrugging dismissively, Harley called out "Guess I'll see ya latah" in case they might be listening - and, smiling to herself, stuck the card into her brassiere, and on it the jester's face glinted almost demonically in the light from a nearby streetlamp.

* * *

END

_So there you have it: how Scarecrow and the Clown Prince of Crime meet the jester Harley Quinn. I wanted to do something a little different than her traditional origins as a doctor at Arkham - especially since, at least in my universe, Jonathan and the Joker are gay - and I thought a female stripper might be an interesting past for her. (I was also inspired by the graphic novel _JOKER_ by Brian Azzarello: there's this one scene where the Joker and his henchmen are watching a female stripper "do what she does best," and in the next panel she pulls a harlequin hood down over her head - turns out it _is_ our favorite girl jester. She helps out in one of the clown prince's murder schemes. You'll have to read the book to find out more - didja _really_ think I was gonna give it all away?) For those of you Harley Quinn experts out there who read this, how did I do? Reviews are ALWAYS greatly appreciated - you guys are _truly_ why I keep writing. And as to what Jonathan and his boyfriend (wow, that sounds _really_ wrong!) were getting into a "heated discussion" about. . .knowing what I've written on so far, what do you _think_ they were getting into a "heated discussion" about? (Who gets to strip who. . .Who gets to be on top . . .hahaha!)_


End file.
